LIEUTENANT D’ESTAING
Achille rolled off the girl, nearly falling out of the bed at the same time, “Christ, you charge enough; buy yourself a bigger bed.”
The woman rolled her eyes and got up in response. The lieutenant did not mind her as she walked over to the washing basin. Instead he reached over to her bedside table and picked up the book he had tossed there on the way in. It was an interesting read- supposedly written by some marquis. It was violent, violent to the point it held his interest.
“You’re a soldier. Shouldn’t you be out on there with the others in Germany. You know, ‘fighting for liberty and France?’” She said, exaggerating the last line. The way she looked over her shoulder though showed she had some interest.
D’Estaing lowered the book, and raised his eyebrow, “My dear. There are many different kinds of soldiers; not all man the lines gun in hand. Some ride horses, some dig ditches, some even sit at a desk all day. I, am none of them. My job is to ensure that while all the other soldiers are doing their jobs, that the people of France don’t make their job harder. “
The woman stared, “So you…” She walked over and sat on the corner of the bed.
“Let me tell you a story. In Bretagne, there was a farmer. This was not your average farmer though- his son was killed during the terror. Now, this farmer decides that war is better fought with pens and paper than cannon and bayonet- he gathers up his fellow compatriots and starts a little rebellion. He starts it off by setting fire to an arms depot after raiding it. From there he sets fire to some other government buildings- I am not completely sure of the whole story. So I go in and fix that problem. I burn his village to the ground. Then I burn him. There has not been word of a revolt in the region since.”
“That’s terrible!”
“You’re a prostitute. For some reason your pontification means little to me.”
“I think you should leave now.”
Achille flashed her a toothy grin, and hopped out of the bed.
“Anything for such a dignified lady.”
*
“Lieutenant, there’s word from the south!”
D’Estaing adjusted his belt as he walked out of the brothel, “I hope it’s’ importance matches your excitement.”
“General Bonaparte is back in Paris! Director Sieyes has sent a letter re-calling us.”
The sun broke through the clouds and hit D’Estaing square in the face. He raised his arm up and covered his eyes, “Well now, that is a surprise. Gather the men, we ride for Paris.”